


Flame in Shadows

by esama



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark, Gen, Mind Reading, Other, Unsettling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 10:06:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6001939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You have perished, little one"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flame in Shadows

The world whirled around Bilbo in muted whites and greys, harsh winds tearing at his clothes, at his very being. Curled amidst the sharp rocks in the bottom of the mountain ravine, he gasped for a breath and could not draw it, his lungs refused to work properly. Everything – him, the rocks, the very world around him – was cold. Something was wrong, something was very wrong.

"You have perished, little one."

Bilbo looked up, past the pain and it's odd, ringing absence. There was a glow of something next to him, a shining figure that, as Bilbo squinted at it, seemed to clear out, as if some fog was passing. Still deathly pale, the white robed elf crouched down beside him, watching him with golden, glowing eyes.

"You have perished here, on the bottom of the tunnels of the goblins," the glowing elf said, resting his cheek very lightly on his fingers, as he looked Bilbo over, taking in the injuries Bilbo did and did not feel. "The fall has killed you. You are dead."

Bilbo opened his mouth to answer, and could only exhale what little air remained was in his chest, and then he was without words. It was not only the knowledge or the realisation that this was death, that he had died, but the echoes of life that robbed him his speech. His body knew that it should be hurting, that he should be in terrible agony after the fall and all it had broken, and the lack of it felt hollow and burning and cold.

The elf looked at him with strangest combination of empathy and dispassion, and then looked up. "Here we are, beneath one of the greater kingdoms of goblins, and fate brings me you, rather than one of them," he mused and then looked down at Bilbo again. "Tell me your story, little one," he then said and reached out, his delicate long fingered hand glowing orange. "Tell me all you know…"

It burned when it touched Bilbo and he could feel the unearthly fire burning it's way through his cheek, his bones, over his eye, into his mind. For a moment his mind was a cacophony of images, of Shire, of Gandalf, the Quest, the dwarves, Elves of Rivendell and then the journey over Misty Mountains – and into them.

He could not breath, but it seemed he could cry, and his tears felt frozen cold on his suddenly burning skin as the glowing elf delved deep into his mind, shuffling through his memories like someone quickly leafing through a book, looking for that one particular scene, that one line of dialogue.

Gandalf, saying, "Leader of our Company, Thorin Oakenshield," and Bofur, saying, "Smaug the Terrible, Chiefs and Greatest of Calamities of our age," and Balin, "And I knew there was one I could follow. There was one… I could call king," and Kíli, "It's perfectly safe, we'll be right behind you," until the words begun to blend in to each other. "I won't forget that!" and, "We're making a long term deposit," and, "I'd like to see them try," and, "We're surrounded!" and, "Does he offer us insult?!" and, "Stand by the grey stone as the thrush knocks…"

Bilbo gasped, trying to draw away but he couldn't he was frozen, and somewhere within in him, Thorin's voice spoke. "I cannot guarantee his safety…" he said, low, and Bilbo could not even remember when he'd said it. "Nor will I be responsible for his fate…"

The glowing elf hummed at that and drew the fire away. His fingers on Bilbo's cheek gentled, and he ran them down along his jaw. "What adventure you've seen," he murmured, quiet and contemplative. "What great promise your quest holds."

Bilbo stared at him, frozen in death and fear both – he could see through the elf now that he really looked. A ghost, a spirit of some kind – how were ghosts so powerful? Even the Barrow Wights…

The elf stood, his hand leaving Bilbo. "Stand up," he commanded. "You are not so weak that you cannot – so stand up."

And Bilbo did, slow and clumsy, feeling as if his bones were all shifting within him, slotting back to their proper places. It hurt but it didn't at the same time – in the end, it only felt wrong, deeply, horribly wrong. The elf watched, imposing and gentle all at once, as Bilbo found his footing amongst the sharp rocs, and once the Hobbit stood straight, he nodded, satisfied.

"Bilbo Baggins of Bagend, of Hobbiton, of Shire," the elf said and bent at the waist to look him in the eye. "I can help you return to your quest. I can help you regain your life. Should you wish it, I can give you back what you once had."

Bilbo swallowed and opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

The elf waited and then frowned. "Speak," he commanded.

Bilbo gasped, and could speak again. "What is this?" he asked. "Is this death?"

The elf did not answer at first, straightening up and looking down on him for a moment. Then he looked away. "This is a hall way," he said then. "A pathway, if you will, between life and death. A realm of the Wraiths. This is where those Barrow Wights of yours linger, and all the spirits that Death has not properly collected, who strife to return to life and cannot."

"I – I'm a Wraith?" Bilbo asked, horrified and choked.

" _I_ am a Wraith, you are…" the elf paused to consider and then looked him, down to the fuzz on his feet to the top of his curly hair. "Potential," he said then, with a fleeting smile. "Though dead, you are not quite over the edge that cannot be crossed over again. You linger, like all dead do for a moment. Your luck was coming into contact with me, before you truly passed."

Bilbo opened his mouth, and then reconsidered, licking nervously over his chapped lips. "Who are you?" he asked, looking the elf over. He was beautiful and regal, and not in the way elves usually seemed to be, if Rivendell was anything to go by. There was something ancient and powerful about this one, even though he was a Wraith.

The glowing elf said nothing for a while. "Do you wish to live, Bilbo Baggins?" he asked and reached down to touch him again, running his fingers over Bilbo's hair, down to his pointed ear which he outlined with the pad of his thumb before pressing his palm against Bilbo's cheek. It was warm, but did not burn. "Do you wish to return to your dwarves and, ultimately, do your Shire?"

Bilbo's breath hitched and he felt hot and cold and hollow. "Yes," he said, and his eyes grew hazy with tears. "I do. I want that more than anything."

"Good," the elf whispered, his thumbnail digging ever so slightly into the skin of Bilbo's cheek. "At your feet there is a small golden Ring. Pick it up."

Bilbo swallowed, swaying into the elf's hold and it wasn't until the elf withdrew that he could look down. There, just under his heel, there was a small bit of shining metal, and with somewhat shaking knees and trembling fingers, he reached down to get it. And true enough, it was a ring, a single solid band of gold, beautifully smooth but otherwise unmarked or embellished.

The elf watched him with gentle satisfaction as Bilbo cleaned the ring, wiping the dirt away from it with the cuff of his shirt. "Now, put it on," the Wraith said, and after glancing up at him uncertainly, Bilbo did as asked, sliding the Ring into his right forefinger.

The world roiled around him and the invisible winds of the Wraith Realm tugged at the labels of Bilbo's coat and in front of him, the elf _blazed_ like great fire against the dark greys and muted whites. He was even more striking here than he had been before, glowing golden and orange and red against the darkness, so bright and terribly beautiful.

"Good," the elf whispered, and held Bilbo close, bowing down to press a kiss on Bilbo's forehead. It felt hot like a touch of fire, like a brand. "My name is Annatar," he said. "And I am very happy to meet you, Bilbo Baggins. Very happy indeed." 

 

**Author's Note:**

> unbetaed, sorry.


End file.
